Colossi, Sheila Lockhart

Archeological Reminiscence of Millet’s Angelus, by Salvador Dali (Spain) 1935

Colossi

we walked away from town at dusk 
red sand already darkening around us
you wouldn’t let me take a torch
said eyes would get accustomed to the dark 
soon neon lights were out of sight
and the pale horizon faded

clouds turned violet like fresh bruises
and when the moon appeared its beams
turned hollows into pools of indigo 
made sand glow like polished copper
I worried about snakes

then we heard the sound   you held my hand
it’s only the wind you said but I was fearful
two black shapes loomed out of the darkness 
impossibly tall against the night sky
I sensed in them deep suffering
like all the sadness in the world   

one was pierced through its chest  
just as you in your soul’s darkness
were later to be pierced 
and the wind blew through the holes
like someone moaning

Sheila Lockhart

Sheila Lockhart is a retired social worker and lives on the Black Isle in the Scottish Highlands. She is a member of the Moniack Mhor writers’ group and Suffolk Poetry Society. She has been published in Northwords Now, Nine Muses Poetry, Twelve Rivers, the StAnza Poetry Map of Scotland, The Writers’ Cafe, Words for the Wilds, Re-Side and The Ekphrastic Review.